


Something in Return

by breathtaken



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: BDSM, Canon Era, Collars, Dirty Talk, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Aramis sprawls out to one side and props his head up on his arm, ready to watch the show. He watches d'Artagnan's eyes roam over his body, before meeting his own with a questioning expression, as if he doesn't understand why Aramis is no longer joining in.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Aramis wonders how long it will take the boy to realise that he's the show.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something in Return

**Author's Note:**

> For [raijumykaiju](http://raijumykaiju.tumblr.com), whose headcanons I took and ran with.

Aramis leans back from d'Artagnan in order to look him fully up and down, and deliberately licks his lips.

The boy's a sight for sore eyes, there's no doubt about it: kneeling naked on the bed, wrists bound behind him, looking even slighter than he really is against Porthos' muscled chest (with the exception of his cock, which is _very_ generously proportioned) – and Aramis' favourite part, the black leather collar at his neck, attached to a leash which loops round Aramis' own hand.

"He's all yours," Aramis says to Porthos, handing the leash to him; and God, the expression on d'Artagnan's face at _that_ , as if a chord's been struck deep within him.

He's hard enough to hang a suit of armour on within seconds.

Aramis sprawls out to one side and props his head up on his arm, ready to watch the show. He watches d'Artagnan's eyes roam over his body, before meeting his own with a questioning expression, as if he doesn't understand why Aramis is no longer joining in.

Aramis wonders how long it will take the boy to realise that he's the show.

d'Artagnan lets out a decidedly unmanly shriek as Porthos shoves him unceremoniously forward onto his front, fortunately having the sense to turn his head to one side and not land full on his face. Porthos moves to straddle his thighs, looping his legs around d'Artagnan's own to hold him in position.

They make a very pretty sight, Aramis observes: Porthos looks half as broad again as the boy underneath him, and while his lover has all the brute strength he needs and then some, what's truly delicious is the way he knows how best to apply it to make his partners feel utterly helpless. Right now he's leaning over d'Artagnan with one hand on the leash, using it to hold the boy's head down as he presses him firmly into the mattress, mouthing and biting at the boy's neck and shoulder, making him gasp and squirm.

Aramis strokes his own cock (mostly for d'Artagnan's benefit, who's watching him with heavy-lidded eyes), and wonders idly what it would be like to watch the boy lying under Athos – but that's a tree hardly worth barking up. It's not even that the man's chaste, for the word chastity implies conviction; rather he's too convinced of his own misery to take a little pleasure when it's offered.

Not that Aramis is bitter.

Well, maybe a little, he concedes, but only the bitterness of one who's been rejected for what he considers to be no good reason. This is a beautiful thing Athos is missing out on, and he knows the other man will disapprove for _weeks_ but he just can't seem to care, not as he drinks in the sight of d'Artagnan's body stretched out under Porthos', groaning and twisting as Porthos bites the boy's earlobe, before pulling his head round into a kiss.

At least Aramis still has the benefit of his extremely fertile imagination – Athos' natural reserve, his commanding voice and stern manner that he can't imagine would be any different in the bedroom, d'Artagnan who worships him and would do anything for a word of praise, _anything_ , no matter how debauched –

He files the idea away for future contemplation. He's got plenty to be getting on with here.

"Stop wriggling. You don't get to come until we say, so there's no use trying to rub yourself off on the sheets." Porthos growls into d'Artagnan's ear, and the shock and dismay on d'Artagnan's all-too-expressive face is truly beautiful to behold. Aramis would bet the boy is almost there already.

"I don't know if I can hold on..." d'Artagnan pants.

"Of course you can," Aramis replies dismissively. "We're so benevolent we'll even help you. Turn him over, Porthos."

Aramis reaches down underneath the bed, and scrabbles about with his hand until he locates what he's looking for. Sitting up, he sees d'Artagnan now lying on his back, hands still bound under him with Porthos sitting on his thighs, trying to push his hips up even though there's nothing for them to connect with, cock standing up like the arm of a sundial.

He shudders delightfully as Aramis slips the oiled metal ring over his cock – from the coldness of it or from the delight of being touched at last, he's not sure – and wraps the leather straps into place, before buckling them together firmly. "What –"

"This is what's known as an Arab strap," Aramis says in his favourite teacher's voice, "and with this on, you're not going to be coming any time soon."

d'Artagnan bites his lip as if he's trying to stifle a groan.

"But when you do, you'll realise it was worth waiting for," Porthos chips in.

"Trust us, we've been there," Aramis says, winking at him, before lying back once again to watch Porthos work his magic.

When he says his friend and lover is a simple man, Aramis doesn't mean it as a slight. Porthos is by no means stupid, but rather, straightforward, and in the bedroom his tastes run the same way. His appreciation of rope-work is limited to its practical applications, to curtail any unnecessary freedom of limbs; and when he dominates, he prefers to use nothing other than what God gave him – hands and mouth, and a combination of physical strength and sheer determination.

And having been on the receiving end himself many times means that Aramis gets even more of a kick out of watching Porthos with d'Artagnan. He's intimately familiar with being trapped under that immovable form, straining joyfully at his restraints as Porthos strokes and kisses, touches and tastes everywhere he can reach.

When Porthos dips his head to d'Artagnan's nipples, first to lick and then bite down, the last of d'Artagnan's façade cracks, the last of his pride and restraint melts away; and Aramis can see the exact moment where his expression opens as the sensation carries him off and he's truly _theirs_. Willing to beg, to do anything if they'll just keep making him feel good.

"Please, please, please…" the boy repeats in a litany, in between now-frequent whimpers, and when Aramis leans over to idly run an oiled finger up his shaft, his hips almost lift off the mattress.

"That's good," Aramis murmurs, shifting closer to the pair of them, his face right by d'Artagnan's. He takes the lead from Porthos' hand and pulls d'Artagnan's lips to his, claiming his mouth in a possessive kiss. "So good. You just keep on begging, you gorgeous little slut."

d'Artagnan's eyes are wide and glassy, his lips are bitten red, and he looks thoroughly debauched. Aramis could just lick him all over – if he didn't have other plans, that is.

"Please…I want…"

"Hmm?" Aramis makes a face of mock-confusion – after sharing a grin with Porthos, of course, who's still alternatively licking and biting at d'Artagnan's nipples, having apparently decided to just stick with what's working. "If you want something, d'Artagnan, you'll have to be prepared to offer us something in return. One good turn deserves another, after all."

d'Artagnan screws up his face adorably, his desire warring with his reticence to put a name to it. Aramis had almost forgotten what that's like, to bed someone so new and green, who blushes when he asks to fuck or get fucked. It's just as beautiful as d'Artagnan will be in a few months, if they keep him, when he's lost that hesitation and melts shamelessly under their ministrations.

"I'll suck you," he eventually gasps out, and Aramis feels an involuntary grin split his face. This is good, this is _very_ good.

"I don't know," he replies teasingly, and smiles to watch d'Artagnan's face fall for a second. "What do you think, Porthos?"

Porthos raises his head, and there's a fire in his eyes that takes Aramis' breath away for a moment. "Personally, I want to come all over my new toy."

"I'm sure we can combine all those things," Aramis replies smoothly. "What do you say?" he asks d'Artagnan, as if the boy's face wasn't already its own answer.

"Yes," he breathes, "God, yes."

"In that case – sit up." He passes the lead back to Porthos, who pulls d'Artagnan up into a sitting position, and slides off his legs. "Now kneel."

d'Artagnan kneels obediently, and Aramis begins unknotting the rope at his wrists. He shares a look with Porthos over d'Artagnan's shoulder, and holds his lover's gaze as he speaks. "How would you fancy fucking me?"

d'Artagnan twists around to look at him, confusion written all over his face. "You? But I thought…"

Aramis chuckles, grinning at Porthos again. "First lesson of sex: the physical act of fucking or being fucked does not equate to being in charge or being taken charge of," he replies, removing the last of the rope that's binding d'Artagnan's wrists. "Porthos will talk you through it. Now, don't move your arms too quickly. Give yourself a little time to get used to having free movement again."

d'Artagnan rubs at his newly-freed wrists self-consciously, and Aramis silently transmits to Porthos that they shouldn't give the boy too much time to start feeling awkward. In response, Porthos envelops d'Artagnan in his arms and kisses him possessively, and Aramis is gratified to see the way d'Artagnan positively melts into the bigger man's arms as if he belongs there.

Aramis meanwhile puts a pillow under his own hips and leans back against the headboard, upper body propped up so that he can watch, all-important vial of oil within reach.

"My turn!" he calls out, and extends a hand for the lead, which Porthos passes to him. With a predatory smile he reels d'Artagnan in until the boy is stretched out along the length of his body, slips a finger into the ring on his collar and pulls him in for a kiss.

Aramis takes his time, biting d'Artagnan's lips until they're swollen and he starts to whimper again, conquering the boy's mouth with his tongue, pulling his hair with the other hand.

When d'Artagnan starts to turn pliant under his hands, he tugs him backwards by the hair and passes the lead back to Porthos, who's sitting at d'Artagnan's side, resting one arm on Aramis' knee. d'Artagnan's gaze follows the movement of the leather, and Aramis gives Porthos a wicked smile. _It seems we've hit on a serious kink here_.

"You'll need this," Aramis passes the vial on the sideboard over to d'Artagnan, before settling back with his arms behind his head.

d'Artagnan looks to Porthos questioningly. "You'll need to open him up with your fingers first," his lover instructs. "Even with an arsehole as accommodating as his, you can't just slide straight in without giving him a very rough ride."

Aramis briefly considers giving Porthos the finger, but decides it's not worth the effort of moving his arm for, so settles for making a face at him instead.

Porthos just chuckles. "Oil up your first two fingers and then slide them in – slowly. It's not like a woman, it's tighter and more sensitive."

"And considerably better round your prick," Aramis adds.

"You do this too?" d'Artagnan asks, presumably meaning fucking rather than being fucked.

Aramis smirks. "I do _everything_."

Though d'Artagnan looks unsure, his fingers are just right, blunt and firm and well-oiled, and Aramis _loves_ this, the feeling of being spread open, filled, invaded, can't get enough of it. He closes his eyes and hums in contentment. "Oh, that's good. Don't change a thing."

"Now slowly in and out," he hears Porthos say, "not all the way out, just back and forth. A few minutes of that to relax the muscles and he'll be ready."

Aramis opens his eyes again to see Porthos' hands on d'Artagnan's hips, kissing the ridge of his shoulder as he watches d'Artagnan's fingers sliding in and out of Aramis. The leather collar looks beautiful against his skin, and Aramis briefly wishes he could make it permanent, have him like this always.

"Now move your fingers apart in there, and stretch to the side," Porthos continues, as his own hands go to the vial. Aramis smirks as he dribbles oil over his hand and reaches down into d'Artagnan's lap, who is so engrossed in the movement of his fingers inside Aramis' body that he doesn't notice what's happening until Porthos slides his oiled palm up d'Artagnan's half-hard shaft, and he startles, though managing not to jolt his fingers too much.

"Easy," Porthos chides, his big fist sliding up and down d'Artagnan's hardening cock. "Any sudden movements in there can feel quite unpleasant."

"Sorry," d'Artagnan gabbles, looking suitably chastened, and Aramis smiles benevolently back at him.

"Don't worry, accidents happen," he replies lightly. "But that doesn't mean we won't punish you for them." He watches with amusement as d'Artagnan gulps, but in such a way that implies he wouldn't be thoroughly against the idea.  

Aramis breathes out a sigh, relaxing as he feels the rings of muscle slowly loosening, and Porthos sees it at once. "Okay, he's ready. Slide your fingers out – slowly – and I'll guide your prick in, no thrusting yet, and no sudden moves. You have to give him some time to get used to it first."

Aramis sighs and shudders as d'Artagnan removes his fingers, leaving him momentarily empty, before that emptiness is replaced with the familiar feeling of a cockhead pushing at his entrance. He nods at Porthos, who pushes on d'Artagnan's back, and a second later he gasps as he's breached, hot and tight and _wonderful_.

This is Aramis' favourite part: more dear to him even than his own orgasm or his partner's is the first slow steady push of a cock inside him, the newness and excitement of it, the faint burn as his muscles accommodate being filled. And d'Artagnan is a picture too, biting his lip in concentration as Porthos guides him inside, resisting his body's urge to thrust.

Once d'Artagnan's in to the hilt, Aramis gestures to Porthos for the leash. Taking it in hand, he pulls d'Artagnan slowly towards him, canting his hips at the same time and encouraging d'Artagnan to roll forward over his body. "Careful," Porthos warns, probably speaking to the both of them; but either way, the movement goes off without a hitch, until his legs are in the air and d'Artagnan's hips are directly above him, close enough for Aramis to grab him by the collar and kiss his mouth and jaw.

Porthos moves up the side of Aramis' body, and Aramis pushes d'Artagnan's head abruptly away, and kisses his lover slowly and leisurely.

d'Artagnan begins to whine impatiently. "Please, Aramis, I need to move!"

Aramis pulls him back. "I don't want you to get any ideas above your station, _boy_ ," he hisses with a wicked smile. "You may have your cock in me but you're still mine to command. Now you can move – slowly – but you're not to come without permission."

d'Artagnan starts to thrust, no doubt as slowly and carefully as he can bear; and his hands and mouth are all over Aramis' face, neck and upper body, stroking and feathering him with butterfly kisses, as if he's fearful of overstepping his bounds. Aramis thinks he probably doesn't realise how teasing he's being, with his soft, delicate touches and the maddeningly slow thrust of his cock in and out; and it's on his lips to tell him more, harder, before he feels Porthos reach between their bodies to pinch his nipple – hard – and suck a mark into his collarbone that's going to bruise, and Aramis nearly howls with delight, deciding that the contrast will suit him fine.

Even with the strap on his cock, it's barely a minute before d'Artagnan is sweat-flushed, desperate and panting, "Please, I need to come, I need, please, please…" he says against Aramis' neck.

Aramis looks reflexively at Porthos, who gives him a grin and nods, indicating that he thinks the boy's had to wait long enough for his first time.

Aramis grabs him by the ring on his collar, and pushes his head back a bit so they can focus on each other's faces. "Come for me," he says in his most sultry voice. d'Artagnan thrusts harder, one, two, three times before his face screws up in pleasure, he closes his eyes and groans as his orgasm rushes through him, before collapsing limply on top of Aramis.

Amused, Aramis allows him a few seconds to cool off before jerking d'Artagnan's head back up. "What do we say?"

"Thank you," d'Artagnan replies in realisation, and Aramis kisses him hard.

"Good boy. Now slide slowly out, and then go and give yourself a wash. You can remove the strap. First give me your hand." He makes a show of handing d'Artagnan's lead over to him, and d'Artagnan looks away, a little embarrassed now that the flush of arousal is dying down.

Aramis decides he likes that look on him.

He rolls sideways into Porthos' waiting arms. "Can we keep him?" he mumbles in a low voice.

Porthos chuckles. "Can for me. Athos'll be furious though."

Aramis rolls his eyes. "Fuck Athos. It's not like he hasn't got a standing invitation."

Porthos gives him a look that says, _You wish_ , and Aramis swats him on the arse in response before pushing into Porthos' erection and kissing him deeply, luxuriating in the familiar feeling of their bodies together.

Aramis looks up as d'Artagnan clears his throat, and sees him standing there a little awkwardly, looking at a loss. "Come here," he says, holding out his hand for the lead, and then using it to encourage d'Artagnan onto the bed. He and Porthos sit up, and they give him a long kiss each before Aramis tugs on d'Artagnan's hair to get his attention. "Now, I believe you promised me something."

d'Artagnan hesitates for a second. "Yes, of course," he replies, but still looking lost; and Aramis realises belatedly that the boy's still wearing his collar, and that right now he is not being a very responsible dominant.

He drops his voice to a deliberate growl. "Lie down on your back, and drop your head off the edge. I'll stand, and Porthos will keep himself busy." He notes the alarm that's crept into d'Artagnan's face, and cups his jaw. "We'll look after you, don't you worry."

"Alright," d'Artagnan replies trustingly, and shuffles into position. Aramis gets up and crouches down by the bed, until his head's on a level with d'Artagnan's; he takes the leash from his fingers and tugs it slightly back until d'Artagnan's head is in the right position.

"Okay?" d'Artagnan nods. "Now, the first lesson in cocksucking is absolutely no teeth, not for me anyway. Keep them covered with your lips." Aramis stands up and braces his legs against the bed until his groin is at the height of d'Artagnan's face. He gives his cock a few strokes with his hand, bringing himself to mostly full hardness, and sees d'Artagnan's eyes grow wide.

"Now put your hands on my hips, that way you can control how deep you take me in," Aramis instructs. d'Artagnan grasps his hips, and Aramis gently pushes his cock between those pretty red lips, staying still at first before sliding slowly out and in again, until he feels the resistance in d'Artagnan's hands. "Good," he croons, caressing d'Artagnan's jaw with his hand.

He looks over at Porthos, who's pushing d'Artagnan's bent legs together, and easing up on his knees to push his own oiled-up cock between the boy's legs, and they share a smile.

d'Artagnan's mouth is warm and wet, and he's making up for the lack of depth by massaging the head of Aramis' cock with his tongue. "That's lovely, just suck a little bit harder," Aramis encourages. "There, that's good." As Porthos thrusts into the gap between the boy's thighs, it throws the rhythm off and d'Artagnan gags. "Easy," Aramis reassures him as he pulls out, stroking his neck, and after a moment d'Artagnan opens his mouth again, inviting him in.

"I'll teach you to take it in your throat for me," Aramis says. "Would you like that?" He's rewarded with a low hum that vibrates deliciously through his cock. "Then when you're ready for it, I'll tie you down and fuck your throat." He pulls at the leash for emphasis, but carefully, not enough to move d'Artagnan's head. "I'll make you take it, make you swallow every last drop, and you'll love it, before long you'll be on your knees begging me to let you suck my cock."

d'Artagnan groans at that, and his cock stiffens appreciatively. Porthos raises an amused eyebrow at him. _Seems we've found something else he likes._

"And while I'm fucking your mouth, Porthos will fuck your arsehole," Aramis continues, describing the scene as it comes to him. "You'll be buffeted back and forth between the two of us, entirely at our mercy, nothing more or less than our beautiful little fuck toy."

Aramis finds he's easily talking himself off as much as d'Artagnan's mouth is having an effect, and he's getting close. So is Porthos by the looks of things, and the sudden idea of them both coming all over the boy, marking, claiming him, is too delightful to resist. So he pulls out and lowers his balls onto d'Artagnan's open mouth. "Lick," he commands, taking his cock in his own hand and bringing himself off with a few practiced strokes, ejaculating all over d'Artagnan's neck and torso. Porthos groans at the sight of it and comes himself a few seconds later, coating d'Artagnan's belly and groin with his own seed.

Aramis stands, stretching out his thighs, which are starting to burn from the position, and encourages d'Artagnan fully onto the bed with a few pulls of the leash. The boy sighs happily, looking as equally blissed out from giving pleasure as he had done from receiving it, and then glancing down at the glistening lines of come covering his torso.

Aramis kisses him briefly on the mouth. "I think we need to clean you up," he says with a glance at Porthos, and immediately the two of them set to licking d'Artagnan's torso clean with their tongues, meeting in the middle for a kiss.

There's come on the boy's cock, too; and Porthos licks it up efficiently like he would any other skin, leaving d'Artagnan to groan once he moves his head away. "Please?"

" _Again?_ " Aramis chides, stroking his neck. "I think you've already had enough for one day."

d'Artagnan… pouts, there's no other word for it, and Aramis and Porthos share a chuckle. "We've got to leave some incentive for you to come back for more," his lover replies.

"Just say the word," d'Artagnan replies, his tone returned to normal now the haze of desire has dissipated. He sits up, hands going to the back of his neck to remove the collar.

"Nah-ah-ah," Aramis swats his hands away, and manoeuvres himself to sit behind d'Artagnan, as Porthos shuffles up in front. "You don't get to do that. It's our sign that you're ours, and only we put it on and take it off you. Head forward." He sweeps d'Artagnan's hair to one side and unbuckles the collar, before removing it slowly from d'Artagnan's neck and passing the collar and lead combination to Porthos, who takes it to put away in the box they have for such purposes.

Aramis tilts d'Artagnan's head round to look at him, a little warily, not sure exactly what he'll find; but d'Artagnan looks calm, relaxed, and just _good_ , though there's something wry in his expression that wasn't there before, some new self-awareness, so Aramis kisses him again, just to be sure.

"What was it I heard you say about Athos?"

"Ah," Aramis replies, and hears Porthos laugh as he wanders around the room looking for his underclothes. "Well, for a start, Athos is not going to be best pleased about this."

d'Artagnan stares at him disbelievingly. "You're not going to tell him."

"No, but he'll know. He always does," Aramis replies, with a touch of exasperation. "And then we'll get a lecture on corrupting you. But it's his own fault for not corrupting you himself."

d'Artagnan look at him blankly. "I don't follow."

"Athos," Aramis explains with a sigh, "has been invited to join us in our bedroom activities, and has respectfully declined, because he's more interested in wallowing in his own misery than he is in enjoying himself." He leans in, and puts a hand on d'Artagnan's neck. "Which is a pity, because I'd love to see him have his wicked way with you."

d'Artagnan flushes, but doesn't look away. "You think he'd do that?"

"I think there's no lack of interest, he just needs persuading," Aramis replies.

"You think everyone's interested," Porthos chips in.

"And I'm normally right," Aramis calls out behind him, and turns back to d'Artagnan. "Maybe if you made eyes at him for a bit, he'd crack. I know I'd appreciate it."

d'Artagnan grins, as if he's just thought of something incredibly funny and can't wait to share it. "Well, if you want something, Aramis, you'll have to be prepared to offer me something in return."

Aramis cuffs d'Artagnan in the head, and turns to glare at Porthos, who's laughing broadly. _This is what you wanted_ , his expression says.

Aramis decides he wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
